The Davros Chronicles 1: The Monster and the Maid
by RaptorusMaximus
Summary: The first of three. In the flaming manufactorum district of Marak hive, a battle sister is cornered by slanneshi cultists. Her fate seems set, until an unexpected (and perhaps unwanted) ally intervenes...
1. Chapter 1

M. 40-159, Segmentum Tempestus, Davros System, planet Davros Secundus (Hive World)

…

Marak hive burned.

From his vantage point, high up in one of the city's many starscrapers, the hunter watched as the fires spread. They had started in the slums, where the cult troops had been driven after a series of decisive defeats against imperial forces. Plans were being made for a final cleansing sweep of the tunnel-like slums of the city, where the cults had made their stronghold, when the Cannoness of the Order of the Burning Wreath had received a 'vision from the emperor', which compelled her to dispatch a flamer-armed strike force to cleanse the hive of the heretical filth. The push was effective, and hundreds cultists were burned in the holy fires. However, such was the zealous fervor of the sisters, the fires spread uncontrolled through the slums, forcing thousands of other cultists out of their holes, in a makeshift offensive that broke through the surprised imperial lines. Emboldened by this 'offensive', rebel cells formerly thought squashed surged out of hiding across the hive, attacking weapons depots and bases behind the main line, and turning what had been an easy, if not clean, victory into a desperate struggle for control of the city.

How, he watched and waited from his vantage point, high above the streets of the manufactorum district. His primary orders were to thin the hordes, to hunt the groups of cultists who left the safety of the main groups, like snipers and sabotage teams. His secondary orders were to strike the fear of the emperor into the cults, through assassination and terror tactics. He had just eliminated a sniper team that was seeking to set up in the star scraper, their blood still staining his gauntlets. Now, he took this opportunity to rest briefly before continuing in his hunt.

As he listened to the ambient sounds of the city, of gunfire, artillery, and fires, he picked up something out of place. It sounded like a group of people, at least twenty of them, running. It came from below and to the right of where he perched, and he scanned that area for the source of the sound. As he strained his hearing, he picked up other noises mixed in with the pounding of running feet; shouting and screaming, and the cracks of small arms fire.

 _There_ He thought.

His quarry had just come into a wide boulevard below him, and he could clearly see what was happening. A lone Adeptus Sororita was fleeing from a mob of cultists, and from the looks of things she could use some help.

Soundlessly, he slipped from his perch and began to follow.

…

Sister Amanda Williams ran for her life. In her right hand she held her bolt pistol, its magazine half empty, and in her left, her combat blade. Mag-locked to her back was her meltagun, the anti-armor weapon marking her out as her squads' special-weapons expert. Her power armor was whirring as it propelled her down the street, the servos lending her extra speed. A warning rune appeared on the lens of her helmet, warning her that her power pack was running low, and needed time to recharge.

Time she did not have at the moment.

Behind her was a mob of thirty or more chaos cultists, armed with autoguns, autopistols and a wide variety of crude melee weapons. They bayed and screamed and howled vile profanities after her, snapping off shots from their crude firearms that pinged off her armor. Most of the cultists were dressed in little more than rags, although a few wore stolen flak armour. At their head was a massive brute of a man, at least seven feet tall, dressed in the robes of a manufactorum overseer, and wielding a massive eviscerator chainblade.

She pounded down the streets of Marak hive, jumping over craters left by mortar strikes and dodging the burning wrecks of civilian transports. Up ahead, the rubble of a collapsed hab blocked the street, so she made a sharp turn down a side alley, firing a burst from her pistol at her pursuers as she made the turn. Most of the bolts flew wide, but two impacted a cultist armed with an autogun right in the chest, the mass-reactive shells blowing his torso apart in a brilliant spray of crimson. The other cultists let out angry shouts and followed the sorita down the alley.

The narrow side street was clogged with garbage and rubble. Amanda had little trouble avoiding these obstacles, but she could hear her pursuers crashing into the dumpsters, slowing them down even further. She smiled behind her helmet, increasing her speed to put even more distance between her and the heretics. It rankled Amanda's honor to run from these heathens, but her sister superior had always taught that to waste your life in a battle you cannot win it a sin against the Emperor. So, she ran, following the twisting streets of the alley, looking for a turn of where she could lose her pursuers for good. But all the side passages were blocked by rubble, so she was forced to follow the same street. It twisted and turned, and soon she was hopelessly lost.

She rounded another corner and stopped dead in her tracks. _No_ she thought. _Oh dear Emperor NO!_

Before her was the end of the alley, a solid wall of concrete that sealed her off from escape. Amanda turned to run back the way she came, hoping she could find a turnoff she missed before, but stopped. She could hear the sounds of her pursuers coming closer once again.

She was trapped.

…

The hunter ran across the rooftops, his power armor propelling him at a speed that seemed impossible for a being of his size. He jumped over the short expanses of alleyways, and used the bulky jump pack he wore to launch himself across the larger thoroughfares. He had lost sight of his prey during his descent from the starscraper, and was now tracking the route the mob had taken in their chase after the sorita. But now, the trail had seemed to go cold.

Then, his hyper-sensitive sense of smell picked up the metallic scent of recently spilt blood. He followed the smell to the body of a cultist, who had been blown apart by bolt shells. Nearby, by the entrance to an alleyway, he found a cluster of spent bolter casings, likely from a bolt pistol.

The hunter rose from his crouch, triggered is jump pack and shot back to the rooftops. He had found the trail again.

He just hoped that he found the sorita before the cultists did.

…

Amanda knelt behind her makeshift barricade and mouthed a player to the Emperor. The barricade was made from a pair of overturned waste cans and a chunk of masonry blasted from a building at some point in the war. She had her meltagun propped on the barricade, and her bolt pistol was reloaded and ready at her side. The melta, being an anti-tank weapon, would only do for one shot, but that shot, at this range, was guaranteed to be at least one kill. She closed her eyes and listened for the sounds of her foes, getting closer and closer.

She vowed that they would not take her alive.

The ex-overseer was the first of the band to round the corner, and found himself looking down the barrel of a meltagun. He reacted quickly, and threw himself to the ground.

That action extended his life by about two minutes, but brought the lives of three of his followers to an abrupt end.

Amanda pulled the trigger on the melta as a trio of club-wielding cultists rounded the corner, occupying the space the overseer had recently vacated. A beam of blue-white energy the heat of a star's core blasted from the barrel of the weapon and struck the chest of one of the three cultists. His entire upper body was vaporized in an instant, leaving only a pair of legs charred at the top to fall to the ground. His companions suffered a worse fate. The beam passed within two feet of their bodies, and the intense heat of the energy blast caused their cloths to instantly catch fire, along with the skin on the sides of their bodies nearest the beams. They collapse to the ground, screaming in pain. Amanda dropped her melta and drew her bolt pistol as more cultists rounded the corner. Screaming her hatred at their accursed forms, she unloaded the magazine into the crowd. The bolts impacted flesh with lethal force, their explosions washing surrounding cultists in blood. Before this fusillade, the survivors fell back, hiding around the corner. One of them leaned around the edge of the cover to fire his autogun at the sister, but the solid rounds simply bounced off of her blessed armor and she blew his head off with a bolt shell between the eyes.

Sensing a lull in the engagement, Amanda dropped behind her cover to reload her pistol. She figured she had a few seconds, but she had made a crucial mistake. She had forgotten the overseer.

…

The former overseer pushed himself off the ground, making sure to remain safely behind the dumpster she had used as cover from the melta blast. He looked back at the entry to the alley in time to see one of his minions lose his head to a bolt shell. He peeked around his cover and saw their sorita prey duck down behind her barricade. Seeing his chance, he groped around in a satchel on his hip, quickly finding the shape he was looking for. He pulled out a pineapple shaped Adeptus Astartes fragmentation grenade, which he had stolen from a supply crate he had found while scrounging the city before his fall to chaos. He pulled the pin on the explosive, waited a moment, and then hurled the lump of metal with all his might at the wall behind the barricade, ducking behind his cover.

…

Amanda had just reloaded her pistol when the grenade thumped to the ground and rolled between her feet. Her eyes widened, and she threw herself away from the grenade as it detonated. She was mid-air at the moment of detonation, and the shockwave threw her into the wall of the alley. Her helmeted head cracked against the wall, smashing her skull against the inside of her helmet. Her armor protected her from the shrapnel, but the pressure wave, combining with her head injury, threatened to drop her into unconsciousness. Blackness clouded the edges of her vision, and she fought hard to remain conscious. Amanda knew that if she passed out, she would be helpless, at the mercy of these heretics. She reached for her bolt pistol, but it was nowhere to be found. She must have lost it as the grenade went off, she realized. Then, all the strength suddenly went out of her. Her last thought as she slipped into oblivion was that her sister superior would be very cross that she lost _another_ bolt pistol.

…

The overseer peeked over the top of his dumpster after the explosion, wary of the fact that the sister might still be dangerous, despite having just taken a grenade at almost point blank range. His caution was unnecessary though, as when the dust cleared, he saw the battle sister sprawled on the ground, leaning against the wall of the alley, completely motionless. A malicious grin broke out on his face, and he threw his head back and roared his victory to the smoke-filled skies. He looked to his followers, who still waited warily at the mouth of the alley, and gave them a grin as well, causing several to let out whoops of celebration and congratulations to their leader. He waved a few of them towards the sorita, confident that her armor would prevent them from mishandling his prize on the way back to camp. He bent and retrieved his eviscerator from the ground, thumbing the activation rune for a moment to make sure that the motor had not been damaged by the melta blast.

Suddenly, several loud cracks echoed out from above the overseer. At the same moment, the three men he had sent after the sorita exploded in clouds of blood and bone. He let out a surprised exclamation, and looked skyward for the source of the shots (he realized that those were what the cracks were). He looked up in time to see a shape drop into the gap between the roofs at the top of the alley…nearly twelve stories above him. He gasped as the shape dropped to the ground, its massive weight cracking the pavement on its landing, and sending up a plume of dust which blinded the cultists momentarily.

When the dust cleared, they beheld the massive form of an Imperial Space Marine, one of the emperor's angels of death.

The men stood, shocked, as the marine straitened from his crouch to stand at his full eight foot height. He was clad in a suit of mark VII power armor with a the bulky form of a jump pack attached to the back, painted electric blue everywhere but the left shoulder pad, the greaves, and the vambraces, which were black. On the black shoulder pad there was the image of a dragon, painted in white, and the marines armored hands were stained with blood. In his hands he held a pair of bolt pistols, which he now holstered. He scanned the group with through the blood red lenses on his helmet and from a vox grill on his helm a deep, grating voice emerged.

"If you traitors want the sorita" he said, "you'll have to get through me."

The overseer was, for a moment, cowed by these words, spoken by a being that was spoken of in mythic terms by the people of the imperium, an empire he had forsaken, and he was tempted to throw down his weapon and flee before this being, this _demigod._

Then, his hand brushed the tattoo he had carved into his forearm so many months ago, when he had forsworn the light of the emperor, and thrown in his lot with the chaos gods, one in particular. He ran his fingers over the symbol, a strange mixture of the male and female symbols, the sigil of Slannesh, his patron. He felt his courage return and he pressed the activation rune of his evicerator, and it roared to life. He raised the weapon above his head, and screamed "For the glory of lord Slannesh!"

Then, he charged.

The marine changed his stance ever so slightly at the overseer's words, but the crazed man did not notice, so caught up was he in his fervor. He brought the evicerator down in a vicious overhead chop, putting all of his strength into the blow, hoping to fell his opponent in one terrible blow. The marine sidestepped the strike and smashed the overseer's forearms with a flat handed chop.

The man's bones snapped like twigs.

He let out a horrific scream of pain, his blade dropping from nerveless fingers. The marine grabbed the crippled man by the throat and lifted him into the air. He brought the traitor's face to mere inches from his faceplate, and the two beings locked eyes.

"You have betrayed the emperor, the imperum, and the people of this world." He said. "For this crime, the only punishment is death."

And, with barely an ounce of effort, the marine tore the overseers head from his shoulders with a loud POP!

Blood sprayed from his neck like water from a fountain, splattering all over the walls the ground, and the marine, coating his blue armor and making the marine even more menacing. He dropped the corpse of the cultist leader, and began to walk towards the cultists who remained, who stood in shocked silence at the death of their leader.

…

Black Dragons Librarian Lukas Ryzle looked at the remaining cultists with a mixture of disgust and pity. Disgust at the fact these pitiful beings had turned their back on the great Emperor of Terra, and thrown this world into turmoil because of their own selfishness. Pity because of the fear he saw in their eyes at what he had just done, and for what he was about to do to those who remained. Lukas flexed a pair of muscles very few other beings in the universe possessed, and a pair of bones slid from of sheaths in his forearms and out specially made slots in his vambraces. His bone blades slid into place, a foot and a half of razor-edged, iron-hard bone extending beyond his fists. Blades in place, Lukas closed his eyes and focused, tapping into the roiling sea of the warp, siphoning of a portion of its eldritch power into himself. He opened his eyes, and they blazed with blue fire, tinting his vision blue as well. He channeled the warp energy into his blades, and they too alit with blue flames. All this had taken mere moments, and he now refocused on the cultists, who were now backing away from the advancing marine, terror visible in their eyes. Lucas felt the familiar anger of his battle rage fall upon him, and he let the feeling fill him, tapping into the rage, but maintaining control nonetheless.

"Now" the librarian growled, "who's first?"

The foremost cultists turned to run, but were held up by the men behind them. Lukas leapt upon the confused mass with a bestial growl, and the slaughter began.

…

Amanda's return to consciousness was very sudden and confusing. One moment, her mind was a peaceful abyss, floating through black nothingness. The next, her eyes snapped open, returning her to the waking world. Her body jerked as her memories returned, and she looked around frantically, sure that she was a captive of the repulsive slanneshi cultists. She was not bound, so she assumed she was not a captive, bit her vision was weirdly distorted. She popped the release on her helmet and pulled it off her head, gagging slightly as the acrid air of Davros entered her lungs. She looked over her helmet for damage, and found a piece of shrapnel lodged in the helm, just above the left lens. She mag-locked her helmet to her belt and stood up, taking in the alley for the first time since awakening, and let out a small scream, backing against the wall.

The alley was a charnel house.

There was blood splattered everywhere, and the body parts of at least four of the cultists scattered haphazardly on the ground and on the dumpsters. The most intact body was that of the overseer, and he was still missing his head, which appeared to have been torn off.

Amanda stood there in shock. She was not unused to seeing violent acts, and their aftermath. Hell, she had helped create many of them. Bit this…brutality, this scale of sheer violence, was appalling even to her.

 _What kind of monster could have done this?_ She wondered, _and why did it leave ME untouched?_

Then, movement at the mouth of the alley caught her eye.

A cultist, missing one of his arms, stumbled around the corner and collapsed to the ground. Amanda reached for her pistol, but found her holster empty. She remembered she had lost her grip on it in the grenade explosion. But when she looked in the cultist's eyes, she saw not hatred, or anger, or charnel lust, but a pleading cry for help.

Before the woman could react to the man, a huge shape appeared. It was no more than a red blur, and it scooped the man up and slammed him into the wall at the mouth of the alley. It paused for a moment, and in that moment she saw a massive brute clad in blue power armor that was absolutely drenched in blood. She saw cerulean light shining from behind the lenses of his combat helm. _Witch_ she thought with disgust. Then, the blade on his arm, which she had taken at a glance for a lightning claw, lit up with eldritch fire, drawing her eye, and she saw that the blade was made of bone, and protruded from the monster's arm. _Mutant_. The beast let out a vicious growl, and shoved its bone blade into the gut of the cultist. The man let out a wail of pain as he was lit up from the inside while the warpfire consumed him from the inside out.

Amanda was suddenly seized by a zealous hatred, and wanted nothing more than to destroy this abomination. She looked around for a better weapon than her combat blade, and her eyes seized upon her fallen melta. She dove for the weapon, seized it, and quickly checked its function. Finding it undamaged, she turned on the monster.

…

Lukas tore his blade from the charred corpse of the final cultist, his rage fading. He also released his connection to the warp, the fire in his eyes dimming and snuffing out. He turned to the alley where he had left the unconscious sorita, to find her standing behind her barricade, meltagun leveled at his chest. She was un-helmeted, and her short brown hair blew slightly in the breeze. He could see religious fervor burning in her eyes.

"Burn the witch!" She snarled.

"No, wait!" Lukas shouted, but it was too late. With a whoosh, a blast of energy shot out of the melta, and Lukas' vision became filled with light and heat.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

For almost any creature in the known universe, a shot from an imperial meltagun at less than twenty feet would be an instant death sentence. The only beings with any chance of surviving would be those able to dodge the beam. The list of organisms capable of such a feat is short, but includes eldar Harlequins, tyranid genestealers, certain kroot shapers…

And Space Marines.

Lukas threw his body backwards, gaining precious moments. He twisted his body to the side, trying with all his strength to dodge the beam. But he was moments to slow. The superheated energy caressed the front of his combat helm, melting through the ceramite in moments, and completely ruining the helm. Lukas let out a bellow of pain at the heat of the beams passing, and tore at the helmet, yanking it off his head. It took a few moments for his eyes to re-adjust to regular light after the blinding passage of the melta beam, and the ensuing darkness as his helm lenses melted. Just as his vision returned, his superhuman ears picked up the noise of a body moving towards him. Lukas spun to see the sorita lunging at his throat with a combat knife. Acting on decades of training and combat experience, Lukas blocked the knife with his armored forearm, the blade screaming as it scraped across the metal. The unexpected move caused the sister to lose her balance and stumble past the librarian, running into the wall of the alley. She wheeled around, hate burning in her eyes.

"For the Emperor!" She screamed, charging Lukas again.

The marine felt anger fill him at the sister's words and her assault on him. He had risked himself, diverted from his mission, to help this woman, and this was how she repaid him? Well, if she wanted a fight, a fight she would get.

The sister came at him headlong, unknowingly mimicking the overseer's attack. She slashed at Lukas' face, the only part of him she had any chance of harming. The librarian, moving with superhuman speed, caught the sorita's wrist and twisted, causing her to drop her blade. She grimaced, and struck at him with her other hand. He caught that arm with his other hand and pinned the sorita against the wall of the alley. He tried to speak, but the woman spit in his face before he could get any words out.

He was shocked for a moment, and then his rage, which had been building since her first attack, burst through the wall of control he maintained around it. He pulled back his right arm and the bone blade shot out of his forearm, the tip pressing into the soft flesh of the sister's throat. He let out a snarl and looked the sister directly in her violet eyes. What he saw there made him pause.

The woman stared back at Lukas, her eyes showing her conviction, and betraying her fear. Despite being held at the mercy of an enraged space marine, she did not cower, or plead for her life like some of the cultists. She looked death in the face and did not blink. Lukas felt some of his anger begin to ebb away.

Then she spoke, her voice full of scorn, but wavering slightly from fear. "Do your worst, monster!"

Monster

That word snapped Lukas out of his battle-rage. He released the sorita and backed away, his bone blade retracting with a snap. He leaned against the wall; his strength sapped, he could not even meet the woman's surprised gaze.

…

Amanda was quite confused. The marine had, to her dismay, dodged the melta blast, and disarmed her when she attacked with her blade. She had been helpless, with the mutant's blade at her throat, and terrified by the animalistic rage she had seen in his face. She had given voice to her challenge simply so that her resolve would not break before this monster, but it seemed to have brought about a fundamental change in the marine. The anger and rage had drained from his face, and he had released her. Now, she regarded the marine like she would a dangerous animal. As she gauged him, looking for some opening to take advantage of, she noticed for the first time, the Aquila displayed proudly on the marine's chest. She was taken aback by this. She never heard of traitor marines retaining the holy symbol of the emperor on their armor, so that meant that this rage-filled mutant, this monster, was...

"You're a loyalist?"

The marine looked up, and she got a good look at his face. He would likely have been considered handsome before his ascension, with a close-cropped black beard and piercing green eyes. But, years of war had obviously taken their toll. A wide scar cut across his face, from his left brow to his right jaw, the scar tissue flushed red from the heat of the melta beam. His skin was weathered, and he had two steel service studs set into his brow. But the worst thing was his mutations.

His bone growths were not limited to his blades. A trio of bony ridges jutted from his bare scalp. The middle one was the largest, running from his forehead to the top of his neck, and rising around a half inch above his skin. The other two were much smaller, and rose only a quarter inch over his skin. His teeth were pointed as well, like that of a predator. But now, those teeth were hidden, as the marine looked at her with confusion.

"Of course I am. Why else would I have slain the cultists?" He said.

"The forces of the great enemy often fight amongst themselves." She scoffed, as if he did not already know this.

He regarded her with a strange look on his face. "True, but cultists almost never challenge traitor marines. They worship them as physical representations of their dark gods. And" he said, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone, "I am additionally 'blessed' with my mutations and psychic abilities. They would have done whatever I asked them to."

Amanda was at a loss for words. She had never heard a servant of the emperor speak so lightly of the forces of the great enemy, or the curse of mutation. The marine must have interpreted her feelings from her expression, for he chuckled mirthlessly. "I am a Black Dragon, sister. We learn very quickly not to dwell on our curses, for down that path lies damnation." His eyes glazed for a moment. "We know that all too well." Then they returned to normal. "Well, I have been un-courteous. I am Lukas Ryzle, Lexicanum of the Black Dragons third company. May I ask your name?"

Amanda had recovered from her shock at the casual manner of the marine to respond. "I am sister Amanda Williams of the Order of the Burning Wreath." She paused and spat "My lord."

Lukas grunted. "I am no lord, sister, and I know it rankles you to address me such. Either Lukas or Librarian will serve." The marine turned and began to walk down the alley towards the main road, calling over his shoulder. "I will vox for a valkyrie to come and take you back to imperial territory. I would transport you back myself, but the fight left me somewhat drained."

Amanda stood there for a moment, then hurriedly collected her melta and combat blade (Her bolt pistol was nowhere to be found) and ran after the librarian, whose long strides had already taken him out of her sight. "Wait!" she called after him. "Librarian! Don't call the ship, I can't leave yet!"

Lukas stopped and turned to face her, puzzled. "Why not?" He asked.

Amanda stopped beside him, looking up at his craggy face. "My squad, squad Calida, and another, squad rose, were deployed to this district with orders to recover a relic, a chainsword used by the missionary Wallhek Masp that was buried in a forgotten crypt beneath a manufactorum. We got in and out with no trouble, but as our extraction craft took off, my squad's ship got hit by a missile. It took out the engine, and we crashed. Thankfully, the other squad was able to escape with the relic, and my squad only suffered minor injuries in the crash." She paused, and hatred burned in her eyes as she continued, "Then, swarms of cultists poured out of the buildings. My sisters and I fought like daemons, but we had no flamers, and they were too numerous. I was separated from my sisters and I…" her voice faltered for a moment, (was that guilt in her voice?) and she dropped her gaze before she continued "I was forced to flee by the group that you eliminated. I was able to escape, but before I lost sight of them I saw my surviving sisters subdued by the cultists." She looked back at Lukas' face. "I...I have to save them."

Lukas regarded her for a moment, and then nodded. "I would do the same for my brothers." He thumped his fist I against the Aquila on his chest. "I offer my strength, both marital and ethereal, to help you either rescue your sisters, or avenge their deaths." He looked skywards. "My brothers have scouted out a cultist encampment roughly five kilometers from here. That's likely where your sisters were taken. I will vox my brothers a rendezvous point between here and there. If we move quickly we can arrive in around a hour." He looked back at Amanda, and extended his arm. "Let's go."

She was confused. "What?"

"We'll move faster across the roofs." He said.

She caught on to what he was suggesting, and, after a brief moment of hesitation, allowed the marine to wrap his arm around her waist. After a nod that she was ready, Lukas triggered his jump pack and they shot to the heavens.

Amanda had always aspired to be a Seraphim, one of the order's elite jump troops. She desired the rush of flight, the joys of soaring through the skies on wings of fire to bring death to the foes of mankind. She had expected that she would have to wait years before she would first experience this rush, if she ever did.

Now, she was getting a taste early.

The wind whipped through her hair, and her heart filled with joy as they rocketed upwards. She could feel her heart pounding with excitement, and adrenaline pumped through her body. She had to restrain herself from crying out with joy. She would not lose her composure in front of this mutant, no matter that he seemed rather civil. To be honest, she appreciated his lack of formality and his seemingly easy manner. It was a nice break from the usually strict social doctrines of the order. But still, he was a mutant and a witch, and even though she was one of the Emperor's chosen, she would remain cautious around him.

She had seen the beast that lurked within, and honestly, it terrified her.

They reached the rooftops and Lukas set her down. She glanced at him. "Now what?" She said.

He grinned. "Now, we run." And he took off across the roofs, with the sister in hot pursuit.

…

Calida's head was throbbing. A great thumping noise reverberated in her skull, and she could feel wetness on the back of her head.

What happened? She thought. Where am I?

With great effort, she pried her heavy eyelids open, and saw that she was in a cage. Outside, she could see tents and crudely built metal structures. Standing guard outside the cage was a pair of cultists, armed with lasrifles and wearing flak armor splattered with heretical runes in brightly colored paint. PDF deserters she thought with disgust.

She still could not recall how she had gotten here, but that did not matter. She reached for her plasma pistol, planning on searing a hole in these heretics, only to touch skin. She looked down at herself and realized she was naked, striped of her armor and weapons and her body on display for the seeking eyes off the cultists.

She was so shocked that she did not even move to cover herself with her hands. Then, she saw a large shape move through the shadows towards her cage. It stopped in the shadows of a building, and her groggy eyes could only make out a pair of glowing red eyes. Her guards bowed their heads to the creature respectfully, but it ignored them. It had eyes only for Calida.

Awake I see whispered a voice inside her head. That won't do. You need to conserve your strength, little bird. She could practically hear the evil grin in the voice's tone. We like our toys to have some fight to them. So, sleep, sleeeeeeep, and let your worries rest for now…

Calida tried to remain conscious in defiance of the creature, but her head was pounding again, and her eyelids began to droop. Within a few moments, she had sunk back into a dreamless sleep.

The creature smiled and walked away from the cages. When his brothers returned, these soritas would make a wonderful surprise. He could barely wait. Oh, what they will feel, and how they will scream he thought wistfully, and disappeared into the shadows.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 _By the Emperor, does he ever tire?_ Amanda thought. _Of course he doesn't you idiot, he's a space marine!_

She and Lukas had been running across the rooftops for nearly 45 minutes now, and the sister of battle was nearing the end of her endurance, while the marine had not seemed to tire at all in that time. Now, normally, Amanda would be able to run for far longer than this, especially while augmented by her power armor. However, she was already tired from her flight from the cultists, in addition to being battered by a point-blank grenade blast and an angry black dragon.

As it was, her breaths were exploding from her in ragged gasps, despite her best attempts to muffle them. Sweat dripped into her eyes, and her muscles ached.

Lukas glanced over at his companion's valiant attempts to keep pace with him, but he knew that the sister's pride would not permit her to ask for a break. He attempted to think of some way to suggest a rest without injuring the sister's pride, but…well, he was a space marine. They were not overly known for social grace.

As it happened, Amanda's armor would save them both from an awkward conversation. It let out a trio of shrill beeps from her collar-mounted vox-bead, indicating that the power plant was dangerously low on power, and that she needed to stop and let the fusion reactor recharge _now_.

The pair slowed their run, stopping beside a small, crudely built rooftop shack that some citizen had built for emperor knows what purpose. Amanda slumped to the ground, her breathing ragged as she caught her breath. Lukas simply stood, looking out over the roofs of the burning city.

After around ten minutes, Amanda managed to catch her breath and get to her feet again. She glanced at the immobile form of the librarian, and her eyes were drawn to the ridges that jutted from his skull. Part of her, the fanatical zealot that the Schola Progenium had trained her to be, was repulsed by the sight of them, but another part was curious. What caused these mutations, and how could a chapter so obviously corrupted physically remain loyal to the Emperor?

After a few seconds of internal debate, her curiosity won out over her training.

"Lexicanum."

Lukas turned and regarded Amanda with curious eyes, not expecting her to initiate a conversation. "Yes, Sister?"

"Your, um...blades...how did you, ah…'acquire' them?"

The marine's brow furrowed in confusion. "Why do you ask? They are not a result of chaotic influence, if you are concerned about that." He said, a slightly defensive tone in his voice.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean to imply that," she stammered, "I meant…never mind. Forget about it."

Lukas stared at her for a moment, a puzzled look on his face, before his eyes widened in realization, and his expression softened slightly as understanding struck him. She was simply curious. That was...well, quite surprising coming from a Sister of Battle, but he had experience with curiosity from guardsmen, civilians, even members of the Ecclesiarchy and Adeptus Mechanicus. He turned to face her, drawing her attention.

"My blades are a result of a mutation in my chapter's geneseed," He began, "which affects the usual bone-hardening process that all Astartes endure during their transformations. This mutation causes some of us, around sixty percent, to develop bony crests and horns on our heads, in addition to elongating our canines into fangs. It is only the most extreme cases where the bone-blades form." He raised his arm, and the blade shot out of his specially designed gauntlet. She took a close look at the blade, inspecting it for the first time with a calm mind.

It was around two feet long, and curved slightly over the back of his hand. She noticed that the blade was not simple bone, but was covered in a thin layer of silvery metal, likely adamantium, as well as a few swirls of a bluish metal that she did not recognize. The blade itself was more or less round. There was a visible cutting edge on both the inside and outside of the growth, but it was apparent that it would be far more useful as a thrusting weapon.

With a _snick_ , the blade retracted suddenly back into the marine's arm. He lowered it and gave Amanda an inquisitive look. "Does that satisfy your curiosity, sister?" He asked, a slightly amused tone in his voice.

Amanda was quiet for a moment, considering if she wished to continue her questioning, and risk angering him, unleashing the caged beast that laid beneath the outwardly polite and civil exterior of the man before her.

Eventually, her curiosity won out over her better sense. She decided to continue her questions with something innocuous, and so she spoke.

"Not quite, Lexicanum. When your blades come out, does it...hurt?"

Lukas chuckled. "It used too." He responded. "But, as I have aged, and my body hardened, so to has the pain of my blades faded. Now, all I feel is a slight pinch when I unsheath them."

Amanda nodded, satisfied, then took a moment to gather herself before asking the question she had been pondering for the last half hour or so.

"Does it bother you, being a mutant?"

Instantly, the librarian's face darkened, and he turned away from her. Amanda felt a tinge of fear, that perhaps she had gone too far, but then the marine spoke.

"My curse allows me to be greater than I would be without it." He spoke, his voice a quiet growl. "My blades smite the foes of mankind, and my powers destroy the abominations of the warp. I, and the rest of my chapter, embrace our flaw, our... _curse_ , for the betterment of mankind." He looked at her, his eyes blazing with controlled anger, as well as intense belief in the words he spoke. "I- _we-_ serve the Emperor, with Fire and Bone."

Amanda was, for the second time today, at a loss for words. The zeal and sheer conviction behind his words was...inspiring. Before she had a chance to formulate a response, Lukas' head snapped around, holding his hand up for silence. He closed his eyes and appeared to be listening to something. He stayed like that for a moment, then looked back at her, the anger gone from his face, replaced by a controlled, neutral expression.

"I can hear armor approaching. Come, we should see who-or what-it is."

Amanda nodded and moved to follow him, glad to move on from the conversation. She followed Lukas towards the edge of the roof of the building they were currently on, pulling her meltagun from her back as she went.

She approached the marine, who had crouched at the edge of the roof and was observing the street below. She lowered herself as well and moved beside him, taking in the street and it's inhabitants.

At the moment, the street bore host to a small stopped convoy of cultist vehicles, judging by the heretical symbols splashed onto the machines in bright colors. The group was led by a (formerly) PDF Leman Russ battle tank, which was using a dozer blade to push aside debris to clear a path for the following vehicles.

Behind the tank there were a trio of open-topped trucks, two loaded up with weapons, ammunition, and other supplies, while the third was being ridden by around thirty cultists in dirty, ragged clothing, armed with a mixture of autoguns, autopistols, and crude melee weapons. One particularly large cultist even had a heavy stubber, which he had braced on the roof of the truck's cabin, his head scanning the surrounding buildings for danger.

The last vehicle in the small column was another traitor PDF tank, in this case a Chimera. The command hatch of the tank was open, and Amanda could see a woman in defaced PDF flak armor lazily manning a pintle mounted heavy stubber, and a trio of turned guardsmen lounged on the roof of the stopped IFV. Scattered about the stopped vehicles were around a dozen cultists standing guard alongside half that many traitor guardsmen and PDF troopers.

Amanda felt her blood boil at the sight of so many treacherous soldiers in plain view, and turned to Lukas, hatred in her voice. "We need to destroy this convoy and punish those heretics!"

Lukas nodded, then scanned the column and the surrounding buildings once again. After a moment, he whispered to Amanda, "It should take the forward tank at least five more minutes to move that rubble. There is a stairway into the floor below us over to the left. Go down it and find a way to get within a good melta-range of the Russ, then signal me over the vox. When you see the signal, take out the Russ, then start picking off infantry with your bolt pistol."

"A good plan, Lexicanum, but…" She paused, embarrassed, "I lost my bolt pistol in the fight with the cultists."

Lukas glanced at her, eyebrow raised, and simply pulled one of his pistols out and handed the weapon to her. "Your magazines should be compatible with this. Now, quickly, we have little time."

Amanda nodded, grabbing the pistol and putting her melta on her back as she heading towards the stairs. As she reached them, a thought crossed her mind. She turned back. "What is the signal?" She asked.

A savage grin split the marine's face. "You'll know it when you see it. Now go!"

Without waiting a moment more, the sister moved down the stairs into the hab building. She moved quickly through the rooms, pistol in one hand and combat knife in the other. She quickly found a central stairwell, and went down a few floors until she was only a single story above street level. She then moved through the rooms adjoining the street, eventually finding one above and slightly behind the traitor Russ. She knelt at a window and placed her pistol on a small table beside her, sheathing her combat blade. She pulled her melta from the mag-plate and raised it to her shoulder, gauging the distance between herself and the tank.

 _I'm within range_ , she thought, _But I'm very close to max effective. I'd better make sure this shot is good._

Now that she was sure that she could make the shot, she gave her vox two quick taps to signal Lukas, the waited.

She glanced down at the bolt pistol beside her. It was of a different design from her old pistol, larger and more bulky. The casing was black, unlike the ruddy orange of her old weapon, and it was decorated with a white skull flanked by draconic wings. The weapon looked like something an officer would wield, not a simple Sister like her. _Why would he entrust me with this? I am the last person who should be given such a weapon. I've lost three bolt pistols in the last year alone!_

Her thoughts were interrupted by the roar of a jump pack igniting. She looked back out the window just in time to see Lukas soar across the street, eyes blazing with cerulean light. As he reached the crest of his jump, he extended a hand and summoned a swirling mass of blue-black fire, which in a moment condensed into a lance and fired from his palm.

Spearing the Chimera directly below him.

The blast of condensed warpfire cut through the vehicle's armor like butter, the well-aimed shot piercing the engine and causing the fuel-tanks to rupture. The APC exploded into a brilliant orange fireball, obliterating the trio of guardsmen on the top of the vehicle and knocking many of the foot bound cultists to the ground. Screams and yells sounded out, and she heard scattered gunfire begin to break out, as well as flashes of lasfire aiming for the still airborne marine.

 _I guess that's the signal_.

The Russ was trying to turn around, to bring its heavier weapons to bear on the new threat. Its turret was already spinning, and the barrel of the battle cannon was facing the building she was hiding in. Amelia needed to act quickly. She lined up her shot, and fired.

The beam of superheated energy flew to the tank in a split second. Even at near max range, the melta still had enough power to slag the tank, and demonstrated this power perfectly as it hit the tank in its exposed engine block, missing the fuel tank but completely destroying the engine, leaving the vehicle as little more than a big hunk of metal cover.

Amanda grinned with savage glee at her successful shot. She glanced down the street just in time to see Lukas descend into a cluster of cultists; blades alight with psychic fire, roaring in savage rage. She saw the cultists in the back of the truck begin to scramble out, weapons in hand, towards the whirlwind of fire and death that was the black dragon.

She stowed her melta and was reaching for the bolt pistol when a flash of movement caught her eye. She turned and saw the turret hatch of the disabled leman russ open, and saw a man in a defaced commissar uniform climb out, a power sword grasped in his hand. He looked back at the rear of the column, where Lukas was still carving his way through the cultists, then turned towards the building Amanda was in, just in time to see the barrel of her bolt pistol pointed right at his head.

The Commissar's eyes widened and he tried to duck to the side, but they both knew that he wouldn't be able to maneuver far enough in the hatch of the tank. However, this was not a Sororitas bolt pistol that Amanda was using; this was Astartes made.

And those had a bit more kick than she was used too.

Unprepared for the increased recoil of the Librarian's pistol, the weapon bucked in her hand, sending the bolt wide. She cursed and corrected, but not before the commissar looked back down into the tank and cried "Fire the cannon now!"

 _Well, shit._ Amanda though. And then, with a booming roar, the tank's battle cannon fired into the building. The explosive shell tore into the building, the blast ripping apart the floor below her, and without that support the entire front of the hab, which had been weakened by the trials of war, crumbled around her with a roar.

Amanda dove forwards as the front of the building fell away, attempting to get clear of the falling ceiling above her. She cleared the falling rubble and turned herself in the air to try and break her fall, or at least land on her heavily armored shoulder.

She hit the ground shoulder first, as she intended, but the impact still sent a jolt through her body as her armor absorbed and compensated for the impact. The momentum of her fall caused her body to continue on after landing, and she rolled into the side of the tank, cracking her head on the metal tread.

 _Ah! That's going to leave a mark, I think. Why do I keep getting head injuries today?_ She thought as her eyes shut for a moment in response to the pain in her head and shoulder.

She heard a scuffling sound above her and looked up to see the Commissar standing above her, his power sword alight with energy and raised to strike.

Amanda let out a small yelp as she dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the sword slash towards her head.

Amanda quickly rolled to her feet, drawing her combat blade with her free hand (incredibly, she'd kept hold of the bolt pistol) and turning to face the fallen Commissar as he jumped down from the tank onto the rubble-strewn street.

"Imperial Bitch!" he snarled, taking his sword in a two-handed grip. "You've ruined my tank! I'm going to slice you from neck to gut and offer your soul to the Dark Prince, whore of the corpse emperor!"

Amanda grit her teeth in rage at the words of the traitor, and spat back, "If you love your new lord so, _traitor_ , then allow me to send you to him!"

Like lightning, she snapped her pistol up and opened fire, in accordance with her lessons on how to fight swordsmen.

 _Lesson 1: Wherever possible, shoot them before they reach you._

The Commissar dodged to the side with a role, his greatcoat snapping as he returned to his feet and charged Amanda. She got off one more shot, which missed, before the Commissar was close enough to strike.

He aimed a slash at her legs, which the sister just barely dodged out of the way of; however she was not prepared for his follow-up strike, which looped around to strike at her left shoulder. Instinctively, she raised her knife to deflect the blow, only to have the energy field of the power sword shear right through the normal steel of her blade. The sword continued it's downward strike, and though some of the momentum had been lost cutting through the knife, there was still enough power behind the blow for it to cleave into Amanda's pauldron, bisecting the symbol of her order, (an Aquila set before flames), and continuing on until reaching the flesh of her shoulder, cutting deep before finally stopping.

Amanda cried out as the pain of the cut ran through her, but a quiet, controlled part of her brain rejoiced, for in making this attack the Commissar had exposed himself to lessons 2 and 6 of fighting swordsmen.

 _Lesson 2: If you must engage in cqc, get inside their guard, where your knife has the advantage._

 _Lesson 6: Most foes you shall face in His service will be male. Take advantage of that, and aim for the groin._

Amanda was quick to heed these sound pieces of tactical wisdom, and as such reacted to her injury with two actions.

The first was to stab up with the remains of her combat blade into the Commissar's armpit.

The second was to knee him- _hard_ -right between his legs. This led to a satisfying popping noise.

The Commissar made a noise that was half grunt and half squeak as his eyes crossed in pain. His grip on the power sword slipped as he collapsed to the ground, holding his crushed genitalia with both hands.

The sword, unsupported by the man's hands, slide and fell from Amelia's wound as she let out a gasp of pain. It went clattering on the pavement and splattered droplets of her blood across the ground.

Blood flowed from the large rent in her armor, but for the moment she paid it no heed. Holstering her bolt pistol, she reached down to the writhing for if the Commissar and grabbed a fistful of his black hair, forcibly yanking him into a kneeling position.

The man gave a pained whimper as he was shifted, blood trickling down his side from the wound under his arm.

Amanda glanced down at the remains of her combat blade. The six inch blade had been cleaved in two, the remaining three and a half inches ending in a makeshift point due to the angle which it intercepted the power sword.

Amanda briefly thought of her history with this blade; how it had been her first weapon when she joined the order, how it had saved her life in her first conflict when she drove it into the eye of an ork slugga boy, how she had used it to save her sister superior by slashing the throat of a charging cultist. This small blade had been her constant companion through ten years of horror and death.

She looked down at the Commissar and spoke, her voice a mixture of anger and sadness:

"This was my favorite weapon."

And then, her strength augmented by her power armor, she drove the remains of the blade into the man's throat to the hilt.

The Commissar's eyes bulged with surprise and pain as his throat began to fill up with blood. His hands clawed weakly at the hilt of the knife, but it was a futile effort. He collapsed to the ground writhing in pain. Amanda watched as, slowly, the life faded from the traitor's eyes, and his body stopped moving.

And for good measure, put a bolt round into his head, popping it like an overripe fruit.

The sororita moved to head towards the sound of combat, to help the lexicanum, but a gleam of light caught her eye.

It was the Commissar's power sword, which lay where it had fallen, still stained with her blood. Amanda almost dismissed the weapon, figuring it was corrupted by the ruinous powers, but something made her stop and look closer.

The weapon was neither the usual large, bulky broadsword usually issued to new members of the Commissariat, nor the single-edged falchions more senior members wielded.

This blade was a thin, elegant weapon, almost like a rapier. The blade itself was a little under an inch wide, and about two and a half feet long. The blade was straight and ended in a tapered point, and looked like it would easily slip between the ribs of an opponent; however, it also looked strong enough that, paired with the power field, it would make a very effective slashing weapon.

The hilt and cross guard of the weapon were ornate, indicating that the sword was likely made for someone important.

The cross guard was made of gold, and fashioned in them shape the outstretched wings of an angel, who's silver, robed body made up the he grip. The angel's face was feminine and beautiful, and stuck out over the bottom of the blade on either side. On the bottom of the hilt was an imperial Aquila, giving no doubt as to who had made it. There was also a hand guard on one side of the hilt, made of a strip of silver, meaning that the weapon could only effectively be used one way.

The blade was, quite honestly, beautiful, and obviously of imperial make. She knew that, if left here, the weapon would likely be once again stolen and used by treacherous forces.

And for some reason, she found she could not stand that idea.

Ignoring her conditioning, which was screaming for her to leave the blade, she bent down and grasped the hilt of the power sword, picking it up.

The instant her hand closed around the weapon, soothing warmth flowed through Amanda's body. The warmth erased the feelings of pain from her many scrapes and bruises, and even the large cut in her shoulder. The blade seemed to weigh nothing, the balance perfect for her.

As she held it, Amanda noticed a faint white glow around the blade of the sword, and she swore she heard a faint sigh of satisfaction.

 _What in the name of the Emperor?_ She thought.

Before she could figure out what was going on, a group of ragged cries drew her attention.

A group of five cultists had noticed her and, determining her to be less of a challenge than Lukas, had charged her, clubs and knives grasped in their grubby hands.

Amanda's expression hardened even as her heart sang with joy at the sight of more enemies to kill; these heretics would be easy to dispatch with her pistol at this range.

Amanda took aim at the foremost cultist, a scraggly man with a gas mask on who wielded a twisted piece of rebar as a weapon. A single trigger squeeze and he was blasted from his feet, his chest blasted open by the bolt shell.

The next in line was a woman whose once pretty face was disfigured by the evil-looking runes carved into her flesh, likely by the serrated kitchen knife she now wielded as a weapon. Amanda' shot took her in the throat, explosively decapitating the woman as her headless body stumbled a few more steps before collapsing.

Amanda took aim at the third cultist, a burly man wielding a spiked club, and squeezed the trigger.

 _Click_.

 _Well fuck. I really should have reloaded this thing before we got started_. Amanda thought as she lowered the empty bolt pistol. She brandished the power sword before her as the cultists closed, far too fast for her to reload.

As a regular battle-sister, Amanda had no training whatsoever with swordsmanship, but she figured she could make do against three cultists, especially with a power sword.

She had no idea how right she was.

As the club-wielding man closed and raised his arm to strike, Amanda thumbed the activation stud for the sword.

At that point, she burst into lethal motion.

The sword flashed forward in a lethal blue blur, severing the man's weapon hand from his body at the wrist. Before he could react to his disarming, the sword swept around and severed his throat in an effortless slash. The man fell, a confused look on his face. The other two cultists paused, the display of elegant swordsmanship causing them to rethink their decision to attack this woman.

Amanda paused, panting, in a perfect duelist's stance, sword arm extended at a forty-five degree angle from her body, her blade held straight up.

In her head though, she was very confused, wondering just how she had done that. She'd never practiced swordsmanship before in her life, but those movements had just come naturally, like second nature, or as if someone else was guiding her arm.

In any case, she didn't have time to really consider it. The last two cultists had decided to continue their attack, and charge.

Once again, instinct takes over, and Amanda deftly flips her sword around to hold it in a reverse grip like she would her combat knife, and charges the one on the left, a man in ragged overalls wielding a sledgehammer.

Amanda deftly ducked his clumsy swing and dashed past the cultist, slashing horizontally with her sword and opening the man's gut. He dropped his weapon and desperately tried to hold his insides inside, and then Amanda thrust backwards without looking at the man's neck, the thin blade slipping through the vertebrae of his spine and severing his spinal cord.

The last cultist came at her as she yanked her blade from the spine of his companion, swinging an axe at her head.

Amanda ducked the blow and rolled away from the man, flipping her blade back to the proper position as she rose back to her feet. The man came again with an overhead chop. Amanda deftly stepped to the side and sliced upwards, cutting the head from the weapon, and followed up with a precise thrust which slid between the man's ribs and pierced his heart, killing im almost instantly.

Amanda pulled the sword from her dead foe, flicking the blood off the blade. She looked at it again, and found that she now had an intense desire to keep the weapon. It felt _right_ to use it, even though she was still concerned as to how she knew _how_ to use it. But that could be solved later. She quickly took the scabbard for the power sword from the dead Commissar and found her melta, attaching it to her back and then reloading her bolt pistol as she moved towards where Lukas was still fighting.

It seemed that the cultists had received reinforcements, as the number of heretics he was fighting was considerably larger than what they had observed. Amanda was ready to charge in when a series of roars filled the streets.

Amanda looked up in time to see five black armored forms wearing jump packs descend from the sky, bolt pistols spitting fire and chainswords roaring.

They plunged into the mass of cultists surrounding the librarian, crushing many with their bulk and then laying about with their weapons.

One of the marines, who wore the markings of a Sergeant, wielded a massive power fist, and used the weapon to practically evaporate groups of cultists with each punch and backhand, while the boneblade on his other arm reached over his pistol, allowing him to alternate between point-blank shots and blindingly fast slashes and stabs.

Another landed at the edge of the engagement and opened up into the horde with his flamer, pausing only to drive one of his blades through the chest of a cultist who escaped the inferno.

The screams of the burning cultists was music to her ears, and as she watched the other three marines, armed with chainswords and bolt pistols, as well as their blades, slaughtered their way through those that escaped the more specialized marines.

In moments it was over. The six space marines regrouped and, noticing her, made their ways over. Lukas arrived first, and spoke.

"Sister Williams, allow me to introduce you to my brothers of Dragon Claw combat squad Sar'al." he said, gesturing to the five assault marines.

The squad sergeant, who had holstered his pistol, reached up and carefully removed his helmet, his right hand boneblade still extended.

 _Why has he not sheathed it?_ Amanda wondered, before the marine's appearance caught her attention.

His skin was a dark brown color, marked by the pale lines of a dozen scars. Despite that, his eyes were bright and energetic, their dark brown color a shade darker than his skin.

He had no facial hair, but short black hair on his head, from which emerged six small bone horns, each around an inch long and making it look like he wore a strange crown.

The Sergeant smiled down at the sister, his expression warm.

"Greetings, Sister Williams. I am Brother-Sergeant Sar'al. I hear you have some cultists that need taking care of?"


End file.
